World Tours
by fairywine
Summary: :Axis Powers Hetalia: :drabbles: And the end of all our exploring will be to arrive where we started.
1. Want Your Rad Bromance

**Title: **Want Your Rad Bromance  
><strong>Author:<strong> fairywine/Yuurei-san  
><strong>Rating:<strong> G  
><strong>Warnings:<strong> None.  
><strong>Summary: <strong>I want your everything as long as it's free.  
><strong>Notes: <strong>HetaChallenge Advent fill, gifts and Denmark + Netherlands.

* * *

><p>Denmark and Netherlands have known each other a long time, and have gotten along well for much of their modern history. There's something reassuring about always having someone to go to without the load of painful shared pasts, to crack open a beer and watch some football and not worry about any deeper meaning behind the action. It's about a lack of pressure, something fairly rare when beings with lifespans as long as theirs tend to be are concerned.<p>

It all starts with blackcurrants. Netherlands has always known in an offhand sort of way about Denmark's farm in Roskilde, but it's never really impacted him much. Not until Denmark apparently has an unusually bountiful year, and Netherlands find himself the recipient of a case of blackcurrant preserves and a note that reads '_Heard you like these! –Danmark_'. Netherlands has never been the sort to complain about receiving things for free, but at the time he had his doubts about this. Belgium is the one who likes sweets, not him.

Still, free is free, and when he tries a little spread on his morning toast it's surprisingly good. Tangy, fresh, and just sweet enough to be tasty but not cloying. Though it feels more than a little awkward to do so, at the next World Meeting Netherlands thanks Denmark in his usual brusque way. The other Nation just grins, long used to dealing with terse natured countries, and assures him that it was no problem at all.

Netherlands doesn't think on it again, until he receives another case of blackcurrant preserves around the next year. This time, though, he invites Denmark to his house for dinner in return. Somehow, a tradition is born, and he comes to expect that December dinner with the Dane as much as the falling of snow. It doesn't stop him from feeling strangely embarrassed when Belgium drops by unexpectedly one year and congratulates him cheerfully for "finally trying to make friends, Lux and I were getting so worried" and other like minded phrases.

Bumps like that aside, he genuinely enjoys the company. Denmark brings the preserves, Netherlands supplies the beer (because no matter his frugality, a man should have _standards_ when it comes to his drink), and somehow it all works. He's never lingered on too long as to why-the closest he can guess is there's some comfortable balance in it all, and beyond that who is he to question it? Denmark doesn't say anything either, so he figures the other man must have made his own peace with their situation.

A combination of liquor and rare mellowness only ever loosens his tongue one time. Denmark came by to deliver this year's preserves in person, and before Netherlands is really aware of it they're comfortably sprawled out on the couch with a couple of beers (coasters underneath of course). On the television his team is thrashing Spain's in what is ostensibly a friendly match, and combined it all puts him in a good enough mood to be more open than usual.

"Thanks again, for the preserves," Netherlands says, rewarding himself for the goal just scored by one of his players with a sip of cold Heineken. "Even if I don't know why you do it."

"You're the only one I can keep suckering into taking my extras," Denmark snickers even as Netherlands punches him none-too-gently in the arm. He rolls the neck of his beer between his fingers, indulging in a rare moment of introspection. "But I guess it was also because…" the Dane finally shrugs. "You just seemed like a cool guy to hang around with."

"That so?" Netherlands asks dryly, though truth be told some secret part of him is flattered.

"Yup," Denmark says, easy and unabashed as he ever is. He grins, finishing off the rest of his beer. "Though that might change if you get all touchy-feely on me."

"Just for that you're paying for dinner tonight," Netherlands says flatly, totally unmoved by Denmark's theatrical grimace. Rising to his feet, he heads off to phone in two orders of kapsalon-and because he's not totally heartless, he'll cover the tip.

Only the tip, though. It's going to take more than blackcurrant preserves to get a larger concession out of him, valued friend or not.


	2. Wishing Well

**Title: **Wishing Well  
><strong>Author:<strong> fairywine/Yuurei-san  
><strong>Rating:<strong> PG  
><strong>Warnings:<strong> Mild Puella Magi Madoka Magica spoilers.  
><strong>Summary: <strong>Hope and despair are intrinsically tied, like magical girls and witches.  
><strong>Notes: <strong>HetaChallenge Advent fill, snow and Mami/Taiwan (Xiao Mei).

* * *

><p>It's cold in Japan, this time of year. Snow falls down in thick flakes, and it only adds to Xiao Mei's melancholy. Six months have passed since she moved from Taiwan, one necessitated by her diplomat brother's appointment to the Chinese embassy. She had protested as much as Hong had, but in the end Yao had won. Family was a traditional value in their culture, her brother had insisted, and it was important they stick together.<p>

It isn't like she hadn't tried to make it all work. She practices her Japanese often enough to get by in most situations, and there are a few girls at school she has a passing acquaintance with. But it's not nearly enough. Xiao Mei misses Taiwan, misses the familiar sights and sounds, and that longing just grows every day that passes.

Whether she's in a crowd, or by herself, or even with her family…she still feels so alone.

"_BeiNg aLonE iS HaRd, iSn'T IT_?"

It is, Xiao Mei nods in agreement. Questioning where that strange, wavering voice is coming from does not cross her mind. Neither does the way the snow doesn't seem to be falling nearly as heavily as before, and in fact is disappearing right before her eyes.

"_thE WORsT, tHE worsT. NO oNe ShOULd haVe tO bE Alone_."

The concrete of the sidewalk has wavered away during all this, leaving a black and white checkered floor in its place. Strange little creatures mill about here and there, misshapen blobs each with a miniature top hat. Though they send little tremors of fear through Xiao Mei's veins, it's nothing compared to the terror that sends her collapsing to the floor at the…the thing before her eyes.

It's almost impossible for her to comprehend, a towering monster with shapes like female torsos bulging out at random spots. At the very top is a hat with a single ghastly eye growing out, but that doesn't scare her the way the scythe-like arms it bears do. They're black, and very, very sharp.

Abruptly, the eye swivels down to stare right at her. Xiao Mei wants to scream, but her lungs, her voice don't seem to be cooperating. All she can do is remain frozen on the ground, trapped by that stare like a wounded animal before some ravenous carnivore.

"_YOu caN juSt DIE. tHen yOU wOn't Be bOThereD by LoNElinesS anymorE_!"

Xiao Mei closes her eyes very tightly, and waits. She hopes it'll be quick, and tries not to think on how unlikely that seems to happen-

"Now, now, that's no attitude to take."

The voice is calm, sweet, and so utterly unexpected Xiao Mei's eyes fly open just in time to see dozens of golden ribbons fly forward. Though they look fragile to her, they nonetheless bind the beast so completely it can't escape no matter how it struggles. Summoning the strength to turn to the source of the ribbons, she sees something-or rather, someone-as pretty and pure looking as the monster is hideous and frightening. A girl, her own age roughly, clad in an outfit of yellows and whites, with hair and eyes the same gold of her ribbons.

The girl smiles pleasantly at her, but the musket she twirls with ease is all business. She aims at the still-writhing monster and blasts its head off without hesitation. Its neck smokes, and around them the white and black checks waver like a mirage.

"Ah, just one more should do it, I think," the girl says, pulling another musket out of nothingness. She shoots it squarely in the chest, and the world pops out of existence to be replaced by the city and falling snow.

At a loss, Xiao Mei lets out the breath she hadn't realized she had been holding. Almost immediately, she starts hyperventilating.

"There, there," her mysterious savior reaches out to rub her back soothingly, and she finds herself leaning desperately into that warm touch. "I know it was scary, but you're safe now. That Witch is gone for good. My name is Mami, what's yours?"

"X…Xiao Mei." Taking one more shuddering breath, Xiao Mei collects herself enough to look Mami in the eye. "T-thank you for s-saving me."

Mami looks blankly at her, and Xiao Mei belatedly realizes she had given her thanks in Chinese. Repeating them in Japanese, Mami gives her a smile that has something warm glowing in her.

"I'm just glad you're alright. I'm somewhat out of my area…I didn't realize I had tracked Margot so far. But I was able to take her down so easily because you grabbed her attention. I guess you could call this a team effort?" Mami laughs, crouching down to pick up an ornate black ornament from the ground. Touching it to a murky gem in her hand, this somehow causes it to brighten up to a pure, clear yellow. "Can you stand?"

Xiao Mei finds she can, with a little help from Mami. Feeling at a loss for words, she stares down at her feet so at least she won't be staring at the girl who saved her.

"Please don't tell anyone what you saw today. It makes things a lot easier for me as a magical girl if it's kept a secret."

"Of course I won't!" Xiao Mei quickly assures her. "Um…but will I see you again?"

Mami's golden eyes widen a little, and she bites her lip. Finally, she says, "You'd probably be better off if you didn't. It's safer that way." Xiao Mei doesn't even get a chance to protest before Mami leaps away with a bound no human could hope to match, rapidly escaping from view.

What else could she have done? Xiao Mei goes home, goes through the mechanical motions of her life as best she can. But she doesn't want it to end like this, to return to the humdrum emptiness she had so despaired of. Every time she goes out, she keeps her eyes alert for the slightest flash of gold.

And eventually, she finds it. Just not like she hoped to.

The monster this time-the Witch-is a massive red scorpion, its head covered by a nun's veil. Another magical girl is fighting it, one clad in blue. Despite this, Xiao Mei's eyes are only on the crumpled, spasming figure on the ground. Mami is still breathing weakly, but the green fluid mixed with the blood from the wound on her torso is the same color of the venom dripping from the scorpion's tail. Xiao Mei's studied enough to recognize the symptoms of poisoning, and worse yet knows it's bad enough at this point that there's nothing to do but watch Mami die in front of her.

"I'm sorry," Xiao Mei whispers, holding Mami's hand tightly. "I'm so sorry, you helped me and I can't do anything for you-"

"Not necessarily," a high pitched voice says. Looking up, Xiao Mei sees a creature, small and white and like nothing she's ever seen before. "There may be a chance for her yet, if you're willing."

"I am!" Xiao Mei's heart pounds, with the hope rising up. "I'll do anything, just tell me what to do!"

The white animal tilts it head, face unmoving as its voice echoes straight into her mind. "Make a contract with me, and become a magical girl. With the wish you are granted, anything can be done."

"A…anything?" Xiao Mei repeats, a single nod being her only response. She needs time to think about it, but that's time she just doesn't have, that Mami doesn't have. "Fine, then. I wish…I wish for the ability to cure instantly, any sickness, anything that could hurt a body!"

"Very well," the creature says, before a glow blinds him to Xiao Mei's sight. There's the strangest yanking, tearing sensation down to her core, and her last thought is that things will never be the same again.


	3. Lay Your Weary Head To Rest

**Title: **Lay Your Weary Head To Rest  
><strong>Author:<strong> fairywine/Yuurei-san  
><strong>Rating:<strong> G  
><strong>Warnings:<strong> None.  
><strong>Summary: <strong>Lap pillows are the best pillows, especially for soothing cranky beloveds.  
><strong>Notes: <strong>HetaChallenge Advent fill, pillows and Austria/Hungary.

* * *

><p>For a man with such unwavering dignity and poise, Austria has absolutely no subtlety in some ways. Well, provided one knew what to look for, and if that's any Nation, it's Hungary. It's in the way he holds his spine stiffer than usual, the proud lift of his chin, those tell-tale signs that something has him upset.<p>

No, Hungary has no problem seeing that Austria is out of sorts. Exactly why this is the case is another story.

Casting her mind over the events of the evening doesn't serve to bring any clarity. It had been the usual Christmas gathering at Germany's house, a motley assortment of former Holy Roman Empire states. For once nothing strange had happened, and even France's yearly bloodbath had been averted thanks to a timely combination of England, his scones, and a forced feeding by the former of the latter. There had just been the warmth of comfortable companionship, the cheer of the holiday season, and good food and drink a plenty.

Well…Italy _had_ downed a bit more wine than he really should have. But so had Romano, and his attempts to drunkenly grope Spain without looking like he meant to do so definitely gave the evening an interesting turn until the liquor got the better of him. In contrast to his rowdy brother, all Italy had done in his tipsiness was curl up against her where she sat on the couch. It had been rather sweet, actually. Italy resting his head in her lap without affectation reminded her of the days when he had been small and it had just been their little family of four in the grand house of the Holy Roman Empire.

No, the thought of Austria being bothered by something as innocent as that is just too impossible for words. Surely it must have been something more serious to get under his skin in such a way. But her attempts to narrow it down to a different cause refuse to bear fruit. By the time they've returned from the party to Austria's stately home in Vienna, Hungary is just about at her wit's end.

While Austria bustles off to the kitchen to make coffee befitting his exacting standards (another sign, since the Nation only ever takes the beverage at such a late hour to help restore his emotional balance), Hungary takes the chance to think over her approach while getting the fire going. The flames are roaring with light and heat perfectly countering the cold winter's night when Austria finally emerges with coffee tray in hand.

As Austria prepares the coffee to her usual liking, chivalrous even in the midst of his ire, Hungary decides to start subtle. If she's misinterpreting this all it will give her an easier out, and if she isn't, Austria will have less of a chance to throw his guard up.

"It feels a little strange to have a Christmas where nothing really outlandish happened," Hungary begins, mildly encouraged by Austria joining her on the rug in front of the fireplace. At least she knows now whatever is bothering him can't be that serious. He's worked up, not genuinely angry. "It's what I've come to expect now."

"That depends upon how you take the word 'outlandish'," Austria answers a little stiffly, taking a sip of his coffee. The light of the fire reflects off his glasses, obscuring the look in his eyes. "While the evening was more agreeable without any strange happenings, it would have benefited from a greater sense of propriety."

"Propriety? From such an informal gathering?" Hungary feels amusement wash over her-even for the likes of Austria this is going a bit far. "I don't understand. Was it Romano, earlier? I know he got a little…emotional…" How very much she had appreciated the Spain-directed way Romano had chosen to vent those feelings, but that was neither here nor there. "…But he passed out before he could do anything that objectionable."

"That was not the Italian personification I had issue with-" Austria stops abruptly, turning his face away. No matter, Hungary can still see the tips of his ears reddening.

"_Italy_?" Hungary can't help the incredulation in her voice. "How was he the one to bother you?"

"He's not a child anymore, and should know there are things inappropriate for mixed company."

Austria is still looking away, but it only takes a second for the wheels to turn in Hungary's mind. It's a small stroke of luck for her, since it means he can't see the laugh she's barely holding in. Jealous, of Italy of all people? And for such a little thing, so totally platonic it never crossed her mind as something to be envious over.

Much as Hungary wishes she could soak in her amusement for a little longer, it'll have to wait. There's soothing to be done-it won't do for one's beloved to be unhappy during Christmas, even for such a silly reason.

"Ah, I see. I'll be sure to talk with him later about it, then." Hungary waits a moment to see how this is received, using the time to push the coffee tray out of the way. "But may I ask when such a thing would be acceptable, for clarification?"

"Privately, of course. Amongst…intimates." Austria coughs in his best '_I hope this closes the matter now, Hungary_' manner. Naturally, she ignores it. Not that it matters, because Austria knows her as well as she knows him. That this would all be too much for her playful side to resist would be very clear to him.

"Such as now?" Hungary pats her lap, and knows by his sudden inhale that he hears it. Austria's slow in his embarrassment, but he does turn to face her as she predicts. The way he's blushing now still makes her heart beat as quickly as when she first fell for him, and has lost none of its power to bring a glow to her smile that's exclusively Austria's.

"Perhaps," Austria says, putting up his last show of token resistance. Ah, aristocratic dignity. But there's something to be said for the anticipation brought by drawing things out-to a certain extent, anyway. As Hungary's already reached her limit on that, she moves in for her final strike.

"Only one way to know for sure," Hungary says, tone all sweetness even as she gestures to her lap in a way that books no argument. The corner of Austria's mouth twitches slightly before he accepts his defeat and removes his glasses. She manages to resist looking too triumphant, but really…one would think Austria'd have learned by now he'll never beat her in a fight.

Austria settles his head in her waiting lap, and despite himself Hungary can see the tension flow out of him. Shutting his eyes seems to complete the transformation, leaving only calm where there was ire before. Hungary lets her smile blossom fully at that, and as she runs her fingers through his dark hair thinks this to be her favorite Christmas gift this year.


	4. Kiss Me Deadly

**Title: **Kiss Me Deadly  
><strong>Author:<strong> fairywine/Yuurei-san  
><strong>Rating:<strong> PG  
><strong>Warnings:<strong> Mild Puella Magi Madoka Magica spoilers.  
><strong>Summary:<strong> There's a disparity between the reality and mythology of mistletoe.  
><strong>Notes:<strong> HetaChallenge Advent fill, mistletoe and Kyubey/Nekotalia of your choice.

* * *

><p>Kyubey's tail waves back and forth absently. Though he is invisible to the eyes of those without a magical nature and free to do so, the white snow blanketing the woods he is in means he would blend in flawlessly anyway. It's a good time to be an Incubator, the 1940's. Even better than the first time the humans played at a world war. Emotions run higher than normal during times of strife, after all, and hope is clung to ever tighter. No matter how illogical it is to do so, although the people of this planet seem to revel in that sort of thing.<p>

Mistletoe, for instance. There's some attached to the tree whose base he is currently seated at, a parasite slowly but surely choking the life out of a oak that has stood for over a hundred years. Yet the humans around this part of the world make kissing under it a winter-time tradition. Irrational, though and through.

In the end, it would be unsuitable of an Incubator to overly concern themselves with one of many human flaws. There's just too much work to be done. Keeping up with his quota is always easier during times of war. Some of the contracts he's managed are of a truly superb quality. Anne in particular-

A gunshot rings out, once and with a finality that is telling in itself. If Kyubey had possessed any ability to feel regret, he might have sighed. Zinaida had such potential, such drive that pushed her forward despite the hopelessness of her circumstances. Surely the energy she would have produced as a Witch would have been magnificent. As it is, the situation that enabled Kyubey's contracting had worked against him. The Nazis couldn't have known the exact nature of the silver ring with its strange runes and green gem they had taken from the girl, but lacking it had only sealed her fate. Denied her chance to strike back as a Magical Girl or a Witch, Zinaida had met the only end she could have. The firing squad had worked quick and pointedly, leaving Kyubey and the Belarusian forest they were in as the only witnesses.

Well, this all ended his business here in a very definite way. Kyubey ponders, weighing the list of potentials in his head and judging which of them would be most amenable to a contract. Before he can decide, he catches a distinct flash of white out of the corner of his eye. A cat, with a fluffy pale coat and a bow resting atop the head. Dismissing it, Kyubey barely manages to dodge out of the way when it pounces with clear intent.

"One of Brother's, and you interfered," she hisses, venom clear in her cold tone. "And she helped my own."

She stalks forward, purpose obvious. Kyubey runs through his options, no good one presenting itself. She is not giving him the moment of concentration he needs to get away. The phenomena of the country personifications had not been unknown to the Incubators as a whole, but to find out that it extends to even the level of animals is something new. He files it in his mind for later review as she springs forward with one powerful leap, and gives him a kiss of claws and fangs while the snow drifts down around them.

* * *

><p>Zinaida Portnova-Russian born member of the Belarusian resistance movement during WWII, who died at age 17 at the hands of the Nazis for her actions against them and was posthumously made a Heroine of the Soviet Union for her bravery.<p> 


	5. If You Are Chilly Here Take My Sweater

**Title: **If You Are Chilly (Here Take My Sweater)  
><strong>Author:<strong> fairywine/Yuurei-san  
><strong>Rating:<strong> G  
><strong>Warnings:<strong> None.  
><strong>Summary: <strong>Because you take me the way I am.  
><strong>Notes:<strong> HetaChallenge Advent Fill, cold and Nyotalia!USUK.

* * *

><p>It's not <em>fair<em>, England thinks. Her's is a land no stranger to the bite of winter's cold. Compared to some of the Decembers she's seen over the course of her long life, this one in modern-day New York City should be child's play in comparison. 'Should be' being the operative word here.

To be perfectly honest, she did have to take some of the blame for her current state. While it is true England has a good tolerance for low temperatures, this is normally aided by warm, practical clothing. Why she had chosen today to throw sensibility out the window and not bother with anything warmer than a light sweater and scarf…

As usual, it's America's fault. But the cheerful blonde didn't often compliment England straight to her face, so when she had mentioned liking the way the green dress the former empire had been wearing that day made her eyes pop, it had stayed with her. Enough so that when America invited her for an afternoon of ice skating at Rockefeller Center, England had found herself drifting to the dress against her own better judgment. Needless to say, the lesson she's learned from all this will be one she won't soon forget. Not only had America not said anything about the dress, but she also salted the wound with a skeptical look and comment about England being able to stay warm.

Stupid America. England directs her fiercest glare her way (and that is indeed saying something). _She_ had dressed practically for once, long jeans, turtleneck, sweater, scarf and her signature bomber jacket. England would have given her what for already had she not been preoccupied with clinging to the edge of the rink and not falling on her bum. She's a decent enough ice skater, but her lack of practice is showing and her heavy shivering doesn't help matters any. Meanwhile America prances around the rink like someone fused Tara Lipinski and Evan Lysacek into the body of an archetypical blonde-haired, blue-eyed pin-up girl. In the back of her mind England blames Sweden and Finland for all this, somehow, and regrets not thrashing the two of them in a war when she had the chance.

The sound of metal scraping against ice throws England out of her sulking, and when she carefully turns to the source she sees America, hands on shapely hips and brows knitted.

"Y'know, when I asked you to come skating, I thought you'd actually…you know…_skate_," America says. "Not stand against the wall and scowl."

"It's been awhile, shove off," England snaps back, or tries to. Her chattering teeth rather ruin the whole effect. Red rises to her face when America just blinks in response, not even bothering to hide her growing amusement. Closing her eyes tightly, she gets ready to berate herself for coming at all.

"Heh, your pride never changes no matter what. But I like that about you, somehow," America's voice rings out. Something warm and heavy and smelling of a strange yet comforting mixture of wheat fields, open skies, and cola drops on England's shivering shoulders. Looking down, the soft, weathered brown of America's bomber jacket meets England's eyes.

"C'mon! If it's been awhile, we just gotta remind your body how to move," America says in a voice brimming with confidence while holding out a hand. Glancing at it hesistantly, England nonetheless reaches out for it after zipping up the other woman's jacket to encase herself in a kind of toasty America-scented heaven. "Once you get those muscles going, you'll warm right up."

"Fine," England says, not mentioning how much warmer she already feels. "No smart comments, understood?"

"Scout's honor," America winks, complete with the classic salute. England sighs out of habit more than anything else, but a smile still plays upon her lips as she carefully follows America's lead onto the ice.

England doesn't notice how the time passes until they're doing the last call before closing up the rink. A little startled at just how the hours flew by, she does one last loop around the rink under the gaze of an approving America before hobbling off to remove her skates. Despite the rough start, she's very glad she came. Something so simple, yet it was so much fun.

A sweet, steamy smell reaches her nose where she sits on the bench putting her shoes on. It registers in her mind after a moment's thought as hot cocoa, drifting up from the two cups America holds in her gloved hands. The tall blonde passes one to England wordlessly, and she nods her thanks before blowing on it to cool it down enough to drink.

"Told ya if you just moved around you'd get warm," America finally says after a leisurely sip of her cocoa. "But a little extra help never hurts, especially when it involves chocolate."

"Yes, yes, you win this one," England concedes. America is so quiet following that she thinks the matter over with, until she speaks up once more.

"You look real cute in that dress, but I can't enjoy it if it means you're freezing in the process. You don't need to go that far to impress me, you know?" America patiently waits for England to get over her choking fit before adding with a sly smile, "But I like how you look in my jacket just as much."

England blushes, hunching into the depths of the soft leather without thinking about it. She won't say it out loud, but for once she and America are in full and total agreement.


End file.
